Final Exam
by MistWraith
Summary: It was all going to Hell in a handbasket, and this would be the final test.  2-parter.


**Disclaimer**: "Supernatural" is the property of Warner Brothers and Erik Kripke. Nothing belongs to me. Darn.

**A/N**: What if Death's lesson was about even more than it seemed to be? Spoilers for the series up through 6.16. Character death…or not (except canonical character death).

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><p><strong>FINAL EXAM<strong>

By: **MistWraith**

It was raining again. It always seemed to be raining these days. Torrents of water slammed into the roof of the house, sounding as if a herd of bison were pounding across its peaked surface. Blasts of thunder shook the walls and the lightning strikes came so close together as to appear a seamless sheet of white light. The wind howled like a pack of wolves, rattling the doors and windows, roaring its fury at being denied entrance.

In the small gaps between the lightning clusters, Dean Winchester could see a red glow in the distance, bright against the night. He knew it was a part of a distant forest burning—lightning sparking a conflagration—but he couldn't help but think he was seeing Heaven burning. Castiel had managed to confine the weapons he'd recovered from Raphael to Heaven itself—for which all of Earth should be ringing bells and giving thanks—but he hadn't been able to stop their use altogether. Dean wasn't sure anything would be left in Heaven when this was over.

God, the absent parent, the deadbeat dad, the superdick, would have a lonely homecoming, the eon he decided to come back.

Cas wouldn't be there to tell his Father what he thought of Him. Both he and Raphael were gone now, though the war itself had taken on a life of its own. Dean wondered if anyone was left in Heaven who had any idea what the fight was about anymore. Except anger and revenge. Two things the Winchesters were familiar with.

Dean had been with Cas at the end. The angel had appeared at the house. There was no blood, angels didn't bleed, but Dean had known Castiel had been mortally wounded. If you could apply the term "mortally" to an angel. Dean wasn't really sure. He and Sam had managed to get Cas onto the living room couch. The angel had caught and held Dean's eye, and gripped his wrist tightly.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Dean had shaken his head "no", thinking Cas was apologizing for leaving him and Sam to fight on alone, for leaving the war above before the end, for not being able to help against the Mother of All's ever-growing forces.

He had been wrong about the reason for the angel's apology. Cas had tightened his grip, eyes intent in a face lined with pain. "_Yes_. For many things. For failing you and Earth in this fight. Mostly though, for stopping you from saying yes to Michael. I lost faith in my Father—I know, Dean: He did not deserve my belief in Him but that did not make His prophecy any less true. You were the Righteous Man and you were supposed to end the Apocalypse. Because of that, the crack appeared that would let her escape." Cas fell back against the couch's cushions, gasping. "Now all is worse, and I cannot stay."

The angel had smiled at Dean sadly. "I wish I could say I will see you down the road but I no longer know. I will miss you," he had added softly, and had said no more. The room filled with a blazing light, but Dean had stared at a dying Zachariah's grace and Sam had hosted Lucifer; and neither was harmed by Castiel's fiery demise.

Dean had been amazed at how much it hurt, at the empty spot in his heart, something he would never have imagined over four years ago when an ominous figure in an incongruous trench coat blasted the door of an abandoned building and strode in, despite every sigil known to man and more than a few shotgun blasts.

Dean was the only one of the three beings who were in that building who was still alive. Bobby had been pulled down by one of the Mother of All's new creations, yet another monster they had not yet learned to kill. Sam had gone racing in to Bobby's aid, while Dean had fought to keep another of the beasts at bay. Sam had been too late to save the last non-Winchester anchor in their lives but he had at least kept the creature from savaging Bobby's body. The two of them had brought Bobby home and given him a hunter's burial—and had done the same for Jimmy Novak's now-deserted body three weeks later—and had moved their meager possessions into Bobby's house, using it as a home base.

They had not wept for either Bobby or Castiel, for there were no tears left. Dean had used his last ones when he stood across the street from the destroyed house Lisa and Ben Braeden had been living in and had watched the police remove their bodies. Sam had sat with him that night, keeping him from going completely off the rails, and giving him someone to hold onto.

And now it was just the two of them and neither of them had any idea what to do now or how to keep fighting. They both knew that humanity was losing the war for Earth and that it was just a matter of time. After everything they had been through, it had all come to dust.

Dean turned away from the window and watched Sam, who was carefully cleaning their guns. Some things, at least, could still be taken down with salt, silver and iron rounds. Sam felt his gaze and looked up, a question in his eyes.

Dean shook his head wearily. "This is all my fault, Sammy," he said quietly.

"What the hell, Dean. How do you figure that?" Anger tinged his voice. "For not saying yes to Michael? You heard Cas. He stopped you. And I stopped you, and Bobby stopped you. We were the ones who turned out to be wrong."

"You thought it was the right thing to do," Dean said, giving absolution to Sam and the others. "But, no, not for that. It all goes back to that damn deal, Sam. Without that, the first seal never breaks and the dominoes never start falling." He bowed his head, grief etched into every line of his face. "In the end, I let everyone down."

Sam was across the room in two strides, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and giving Dean a slight shake. "The hell you did! Why stop at the deal, Dean? How about my stupidity at leaving a knife next to a declared enemy? Or my not taking Jake out to begin with? Or Dad's deal? Or Mom's deal?" Sam growled. "Oh, and let's not forget Dad's and my working so hard all through your life to make sure you thought that your only purpose in life was to take care of us."

Sam brushed a hand tiredly through locks that were too long even by his standards. "I had a whole year to stop listening to my ego and need for revenge—and a damn demon bitch—and the last seal would never have been broken." He stared at Dean and the older man could practically feel his brother willing him to agree. "This isn't all on you, Dean. Each of us bears responsibility.

Sam's eyes closed as if he were in pain. "I need you to hold on, bro; I'll never make it if you don't." The last was barely above a whisper.

Dean took a deep breath. No matter what else has happened, no matter what was to come, one thing had never changed: He was the big brother and always would be. "Don't worry, Sammy. I'm not letting you go on alone."

It didn't change his feelings, though. No matter what else had gone before his fateful decision had been made, no matter how his twig had been bent throughout his childhood, in his mind he _knew_ the deal had been the key. The irony was that he thought the world would be better off with a Sam Winchester in it than a Dean Winchester.

A sudden moan made him looked over at Sam in alarm. His younger brother was clutching his head and staggering. Dean jumped over and grabbed his arm, guiding him over to an overstuffed chair, avoiding the couch that still bore the imprint of Cas' wings. He knew what was happening. Sam's wall was cracking under the strain of their lives and the pain of their losses. What had him on the verge of panicking was that it was occurring with increasing frequency. There had already been four such incidents this week, more than Sam had ever had before.

Sam curled into the chair, rocking back and forth. Dean kept patting his shoulder, making soothing sounds, and feeling totally helpless. He had no idea what to do—and there was no one left from whom he could seek help.

Sam's rocking movements gradually slowed and the moans diminished, and Dean drew a deep breath, thinking they'd dodged the bullet one more time. He was unprepared therefore, when Sam let out a great cry and stiffened. His eyes rolled back into his head and Dean was barely fast enough to catch him as he fell and keep him from slamming his head onto the hard wood floor. Sam's body jerked spasmodically several times and then it fell completely, ominously, still.

"Sammy?" Dean breathed. "Sammy, please don't. Please." He laid one hand on his brother's arm, hoping contact would reach in, past the wall he knew had cracked beyond repair, and pull his brother back to him.

An hour later, when Sam had still not stirred, Dean knew it was over. Sam's "episodes" had never lasted more than a few minutes before. Now, Sam was lost in his memories, drowning in them, and he would never again find the shore. Dean held Sam partially upright, Sam's back against him, and wept. The tears he had thought gone forever were falling onto Sam's pale face, like the rain on the earth outside.

He and the world cried together.

If he had known back then in Cold Oak where the deal would lead, he would never had made it. Not only the world, but also Sam himself would have been better off. No Apocalypse, no Hell or cage, no war in Heaven, no monsters multiplying like viruses and eating away at humanity. A Sam who would have been at peace in Heaven.

Dean buried his face one hand and whispered, "I call do-over." In his mind, he could see Sam rolling his eyes and asking, "What are you? Seven?"

Through the tears, he started to laugh and then he felt the building—no, the _ground_—shake. Then there was a _hitching_ movement and everything began to swirl. Wide-eyed, he watched the events of the last four years racing _backwards_ and he felt himself thrown back with him, seeming to race them to the finish line.

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><p>With a startled grunt, Dean suddenly felt a chair beneath him. He looked down and then right and left and his eyes widened. He recognized this house. The decaying structure, the grimy windows that partially blocked the sun, the feel of death. It was the house in Cold Oak.<p>

He knew what he would see when he looked forward and he steeled himself and shifted his gaze. Sam lay on the disheveled cot, on his back, face toward his brother. With the fatal wound hidden, he looked to be no more than deeply asleep. Dean knew better and he felt yet again the wrench in his heart, the searing sense of loss he'd experienced when he held his dead brother in his arms.

For one instant, the urge to race to the crossroads threatened to send him out of the cabin and into the Impala's driver's seat but the future he had been shown, the images playing out before him even now, overwhelmed his need to bring his brother back and the Devil take the hindmost. _Which he would_, Dean now knew. And that knowledge kept him in the chair.

He had found his line in the sand. He would not sacrifice the world for his brother, and he would not sacrifice his brother's soul for his brother's life.

He didn't know who had sent him on that journey to times yet to come, but his money was on Death. Ancient, powerful and unwilling to be in thrall to a "brat throwing a temper tantrum." And wanting an end to fucking with the natural order.

_Ripples in the pond and all that crap. Got it. Lesson learned_.

And he _had_ learned it. He would pay the price demanded to keep the world in one piece. Saving people, fighting evil. He had been seeking to do that all his life. He had forgotten that, had put his love for his brother above all else, and he had been shown how terrible the results of that decision would be. He would not make the same disastrous mistake twice. He would walk away from the last of his blood family.

Glancing briefly out one dirty window, he could see the dirt road leading away from the house. Empty. Lonely. But the road he had to travel all the same. He picked up his jacket and shrugged into it and went looking for an axe.

He had a pyre to build.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Wait! Don't jump! <strong>This is not totally the end if you don't like stuff that makes you want to jump off a bridge(!): There will be a **Coda** (long-ish) posted shortly. If you like things really, really bleak, you can stop here, but while the **Coda** does not make it a _happy_ ending, it gives Dean a light at the end of the tunnel. Because, honestly? This was too darn bleak for me! Please let me know what you thought.


End file.
